


Carry On Captain

by localfreak



Category: British Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Polari, WWII, Wartime, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(aka When Steve met Kenny).</p><p>Just a short one-shot of idle musing. Steve and the Commandos are in camp when a revue show is on. They all make time to enjoy the party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On Captain

“Not hanging out with dark and handsome out there?” 

Steve started a little, looking up from his sketchbook and across to where Bucky had easily joined in some sort of noisy contest with a few others, cigarette smoke curling in a haze around them mingling with the smell of cheap army booze and unwashed boots. He looked at the man who addressed him, thin and fine boned and familiar.

“Nah. Oh you were in the revue show.”

The man crouched next to Steve, peering at his sketchbook curiously. 

“That’s right. Did you like it?”

“It was swell.”

The man smiled broadly, “Real swell pardner,” he imitated putting on a drawling accent. “Williams” he continued. “And you’re the infamous Captain America I hear.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Those are good.” 

Steve covered the sketch with a hand automatically, but Williams put his hand over Steve’s own.

“Aw, don’t be like that. They’re good. I do a bit myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing that good, but I was going into draughtsmanship. As a trade you see. My father always wanted me to have a trade. Like him.”

“Is he a draughtsman?”

“Nah, ducky, he’s an ‘airdresser. Dead butch though, don’t have no time for omees-palones.”

Williams was testing him out, and whilst some of the local slang had gone over his head, Steve had learnt enough for this. He let a smile spread across his face.

“Will you be going back to it after?”

“Suppose. Till something better comes along anyway.”

“You could carry on with the acting. You’re good. Better than the shows I was doing back home, I’ll tell you that.”

“I would deny I lend a touch of je ne sais qua to the proceedings.”

“Is that your 'actual French'?”

Williams laughs, easy, cackling, “It is, ducky, it is. Here, let’s blow this joint you an’ me.”

Thanks to the serum, when Steve gets back to the rest of his unit the next morning, they might tease him asking if he ‘got lucky’, but there is nothing to keep their interest. Steve’s lips, bruised from kissing, the bite mark on his neck, the little aches across his thighs have all faded, only the memory of them remains.

_(Steve bit his lip to keep from moaning, only thinly erected walls and the darkness of the night hiding them, as Williams bit into his shoulder, both of them, leaning tight against each other, rutting like schoolboys, the breath steaming up the air thicker than any cigarette smoke)_

When Steve wakes up in the future, if he thinks of the slender young man who pressed against him that night, he hopes that he went on to have a good life. 

He wonders if Williams went back into his apprenticeship and hopes not- he was too good an actor and a comic for that. Steve hopes he carried on with acting instead.

One day, he’ll discover that Williams did, indeed, carry on.


End file.
